Sheffield

 I’m leaving for Sheffield. I’ve walked the dogs and fed them and Trendy Carol’s hubby will be collecting them soon.

I’ve eaten a shop bought sandwich with my bucket of coffee because I hadn’t shopped and have just booked my hotel in a slighter rougher part of the city.

I’m travelling by train and should be ‘ome around 3pm.

This afternoon , I will meet my friend John who is dealing with an illness with all of the arch of Barbara Stanwick at her very best and Mike who deals with everything with a laid back attitude typical of a Yorkshireman who is seldom bothered about “ owt”

Tonight it’s theatre at the Crucible with Jane  and tomorrow after a lie in Vince will pick me up and we will drive to see Kathryn for lunch in Derbyshire . I’ve known both since my student nurse days.

Hey ho

After all the shenanigans with the trains I was just about to give Aviva Trains a bashing , but a new 22 century train arrived on time and looked sleek and clean and fit for purpose.

Bit Between Our Teeth

 

The Trelawnyd Community Association of which I am now a trustee has recently taken over responsibility for our village hall, which is at risk of closing

The Memorial Hall is an impressively large building for such a small village and was commissioned at the turn of the century by the deliciously handsome Michael Antonio Ralli. 

Ralli, a Russian from Odessa who was the Greek Consul in Liverpool, strangely made his home in Trelawnyd with his wife Mia and knowing that many of the local men were in need of work , he commissioned a large hall, so that more men would be employed. 

Ralli

With fuel prices high, the Hall being a listed building and overheads as they are, the association has volunteered to take on a rather big job, but with a new committee of volunteers, we will hit the road running so to speak 

One of the first events was my idea, a large noisy, good natured, alcohol fuelled Village Céilidh, a celebration of a new hall management team and a new era 

Noodles

 I’m reducing myself to the old Facebook ploy of photographing my lunch.

How sad…..mind you my Thai noodles from a stall in the new Chester Market were bloody lovely, and have brightened a much dark and depressing Tuesday..

I wrote my letters and have drank coffee in the Storyhouse, this morning

And all is ok with the world 

This evening I caught up with some of the members of the TCA for an impromptu catch up and haven’t laughed so much in ages

My House Keeper

 

If I had ever lived in a large house. 

I would have loved to have a house keeper .

She would be one of those long suffering , loyal cinematic type of house keepers….wise cracking, opinionated and always there….with a pithy comment, a gentle smile and bowl of soup. 

Think Miranda Hobbs’ Magna in Sex and The City….. Arthur Bach’s Hobson in Arthur or Karen Walker’s Rosario in Will and Grace.

Mine will be a Rosemary Harris lookalike whose always unseen husband will be keeping the garden up to standard . They live in and never had any children. 

We’ve never had a serious heartfelt conversation 

We’ve never had to.

Tomorrow I’ve set aside 2 strict hours 

I’ve completed my college work, I’ve caught up with my finances, I’ve done my online training for work ….so this is 120 minutes to sit with a coffee and write old fashioned letters to a few old friends I’ve not previously made time for. 

And so I will take the dogs for a long walk, feed them and set them up to sleep in the kitchen then I will  drive to Chester to sit in the Storyhouse to do some proper, unhurried letter writing with my coffee.

My old friends deserve this 

I deserve this too

I’ll go to Chester to stop real life intervening 

My New Best Friend

 

It’s going on midday and the bucket of coffee is out.

I want no noise and no movement for a while and the dogs sense that,

My night shifts were challenging but kept sane by an experienced support worker called Tracy who knows her stuff. Bluebell’s gear stick broke loose again as I left the Hospice and I had to drive home in third gear and in need of stopping for dog and cat food.

Well I just about managed it, ( Looking rather like like Mr Magoo) and called the RAC out to fix the problem and the chirpy Terry turned up again with lots of stories about his family and how he worked in Japan as a young man .

He exhausted me , but I felt in good hands as he said I was one of the “ Good uns “

Apparently he could tell a Good un” from 50 feet.

I didn’t ask how

Terry indeed proved to be a good un himself, for, half an hour later when I called him back after locking myself out of Bluebell when down at the shops in Dyserth, he turned up again with is gizmo to sort it as cheerful and as happy as a chattering otter.

Subsequently I had no daytime sleep yesterday , so flagged and went to bed early. I was never going to watch the Harry interview anyway. I slept heavy and woke late with back ache, so missed Albert leaving a vomit pile on the landing which I stood in, in bare feet. 

After that, everything else is a blur what with a trip to the bank( no parking) dog walk, and only an hour’s break before I promised to take a neighbour for a hospital appointment .

Hence the quiet time now with my coffee.

The cold sick is still sitting on the landing with my footprint inside it ……

I will get there later, I promise

 

ABBA Voyage -

I think I’ve given my sister Janet a bit of a flavour for London for her Christmas gift to me was a ticket to see the ABBA voyage concert at the old Olympic park in Stratford .

Of course she’s going with me ( that’s the beauty of such gifts ) and in a similar vein I’ve got her a ticket for Les Miserables for her Christmas gift , with the proviso that I go too…..

A great result either way.

The kick off is February 

Let’s hope the trains are running

Kilroy and Peter Rabbit woz here

 I’ve been sleeping in the spare room for the past week.

I don’t quite know the reason for the change from a lovely kind size bed onto the antique brass single bed in the corner of my office, but move I did and yesterday afternoon the room felt overly cozy what with me , Dorothy and Albert curled up in what was free at the time of settling .

I’m on night shift for most of the weekend.

The bed squeaks dreadfully when you turn and squeals alarmingly when you first sit down on it, but it’s comfortable and warm and reminds me of when I was a child.

Perhaps that’s why I’ve sought it out just after Christmas.

Alan Bennett always sleeps in a single bed, he wrote about it in his memoirs 

It kind of suits him, I think.

Mind you he never shared his bed with a bulldog.

Yesterday I went to bed before nights at 2 pm. 

I’m full of thoughts at the moment, 

Things to do, things I want to do. 

Things not done.

In my double bed sleep takes a while to catch me 

In my single bed, I doze long before Dorothy has stopped licking any limb poking from under the duvet.

Peter Rabbit I remind myself  and now at 2 am in the morning, I’ve wrapped the book up and addressed the padded envelope in readiness to post on Monday morning

I like giving books to Children and infants and you can’t go wrong with The Tales of Peter Rabbit. for a first gift. My great nephew Rew will receive it next week.

The start of his collection. 

I’ve written on the cover 

To my Great Nephew Rew Gray from your great Uncle John Gray

The inscription pleased me.

I’m feeling my mortality a bit this month. 

Work gets you like that sometimes, and insidiously wrong foots you, so the inscription feels positive in a sort of I was ‘ere kind of way…like Kilroy used to say.

Just Listen

 

It was a quiet evening 

Dark and somewhat wintery.

I’d lit the fire early and had hunkered down for the night

And there was a tap at the kitchen window.

The dogs were up and barking as one, and as they hurled themselves into the kitchen, I slipped through the front door and into the rain to catch one of the villagers in the lane

Only a villager would know to knock on the lane window .

It was a lady from Trelawnyd who I know well and she gave me a bunch of tulips.

“What are those for ? “ I asked but I kind of already knew the answer

They were a thank you for an interaction a day or so previous.

In my mind I hadn’t done anything as all,

I just listened 

I listened to a problem that needed verbalising 

I listened without trying to solve it

I just listened.

No big deal in the scheme of things 

But big enough for this one person to want to thank me with some tulips on a wet, dark night 

The tulips were a sign , not only of thanks ( which were gracefully received) but a sign of how much pain and upset was around at the time, pain and upset that could be salved, in part,by a little time and some empathy. 

We can all listen and empathise a little more, can we not?

Even if we are hurting, or tired, or kind of sad

We Just need to remind ourselves not to run inside if it’s cold , or run away if the conversation takes a turn you didn’t expect. 

Tulips won’t arrive every time.

But you will know 

That  you’ve done the right thing, at the right time

For a person who needed you.